


killing me to love you

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mark is not okay, Missing Scene, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: Mark waits by the phone.Or-Damien has been free of The AM for one month and Mark can't handle the radio silence.





	killing me to love you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [mark x damien: we're done (playlist)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/361311) by mostlikelydefinentlymad. 



 

 

 _I wanna hear your voice but I don't wanna respond_  
_don't really have a choice_  
_just kind of hit me that you're gone_  
_haven't spoke for a minute_  
_I have been barely living_

**[leave a message](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZN95Te2kpsc) **

 

 

He's not stalking Joan's landline. He's not.

If the phone happens to be in his hand it's only because he's returning it to it's cradle. Someone must've misplaced it and it wedged between the sofa cushions. He'd stumbled upon it while browsing Netflix. 

'kay? Perfectly reasonable explanation. 

And no, he doesn't fucking _sleep_ with it. He's not a sixteen year old kid with a crush. He's twenty eight and absent minded. He was in a coma for two years and it took a toll on his short term memory. That's why Joan found the cordless under his pillow last week. 

Oh, and he only asked about missed calls while crashing at Sam's because he was concerned about The AM. They released Damien approximately ten days ago and neither party has made contact. It's suspicious. It's unlike Damien to sit on his hands and do nothing.

Mark needs to be in the know. How can he be if Joan ignores her messages? 

 _Someone_ has to take responsibility. 

It's an ugly clunky phone anyway and doesn't even fit in his pocket. Not only that but- it's possessed. It appears in every room he's occupying. He reaches for an apple, it's  _there_.  He pours a cup of coffee, it's beside of the creamer. 

He takes a shower, it's next to his razor on the sink. 

* * *

 

"Mark, give me the phone," Joan orders.

Wednesday, January. Fourteen days after Damien's release. 

"I'm not keeping it from you," he argues. Tumbler of liquor in his right hand, phone in the left. A precariously balanced open bottle in the crook of his arm- day drunk at 3pm.  

Joan massages her temples and tells herself that if she lunges for it, Mark will spill bourbon on the carpet. It'll take weeks to shampoo out the stench of stale alcohol. She assumed they'd outgrown the childish arguing over material possessions but phones are seemingly exempt. 

"Are we pretending this isn't happening?" 

Mark gives her a puzzled look. 

"The obsession with the phone, the binge drinking." She gestures at the half empty bottle and loathes Damien Gorham a little more. "You only leave the house when Sam asks if you want to stay the night. When you're with her, it's the same routine." 

"I'm tired," he retorts, shoulders squared and swaying on his feet.

"You're wallowing."

"I'm  _fine."_   

"We're going to talk about this when you're sober."

He shoves past her and mutters a sarcastic quip before locking himself in his room. When the door clicks, she pops open a bottle of merlot. 

* * *

 

"We're extending an exclusive offer for this week only," says a chipper voice at ass o'clock in the morning. "Prices start at $79.95-"

Mark blinks, eyes burning and throat parched. _You deserve that hangover,_ taunts a voice in his head. Sounds a lot like Joan.

The woman prattles on.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbles. 

"Wonderful," chirps Satan. "I'll need your full name and address." 

He passes out twice but her shrill, "Sir?" drags him whining and kicking out of his stupor. By the time the call has disconnected, he has a bottle to his lips. 

 

-

 

"You switched my telephone company? I've been with them for ten years," an outraged Joan says three days later. Lectures him as he stands in line at Starbucks. "Fix it," she orders. 

He shouldn't have answered the phone, shouldn't have latched onto a stranger because she listened when he spoke. Shouldn't have shared with her what he cannot share with people who've known him for longer than five minutes, shouldn't have guiltily agreed to whatever sales pitch she quietly offered after his vague spiel about gas guzzling vehicles and dickhead boyfriends.

He orders his drink and calls right away.  Cecilia does not answer, not that he has anything exciting to add to his tirade. He shouldn't have shared in the first place. How humiliating.

"Can I get your full name and address please?" He takes a sip of green tea and obeys Joan like he's been doing for most of his life. 

* * *

 

"He really likes you," Sam says, dimpled smile on her cheeks. 

Mark heart does a happy flip. "He does?" 

"Of course," she says in an exaggerated cheerful tone. Too sweet. There's a distinct roughness that she's missing. 

"I like him too," he blurts enthusiastically. 

Sam beams at him and passes Darwin over. Oh shit, the cat.  _Darwin_ likes him. But of course. 

It's been roughly nineteen days since Damien was released. Why would Mark assume she was referring to him? They hate one another. She'd probably deck Damien if she saw him again. 

"Mark?"

"Hm?"

"You kinda checked out on me for a minute," she says. Darwin's tail slithers across his cheek as the fat tabby demands attention.

"I'm a little tired." Joan would call his tired _heartbreak_ if she knew. If it were a topic they discussed. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight?" 

Damien doesn't have Sam's number. If he calls Joan's place, he'll leave a message. And she won't delete it because- because  _why?_

"You don't have to ask," Sam replies softly. "You're welcome here anytime." 

-because she hates Damien but she loves Mark.  

"C'mon fat boy," he says and scoops Darwin up. 

Right. 

* * *

 

"I'm worried," Sam laments.

Joan waves away the waitress who tries to refill her coffee and sips what's left.

"Has he talked to you about how he's feeling?"

Sam stabs a cherry tomato with her fork and scowls when it rolls off the plate.  "He says he's tired every time I try to get him to talk. He still cares about him, Joan."

Damien.

"I know." 

"What do we do?"

"We wait," says Joan. "It's been a month and I highly doubt Damien's stint with The AM has humbled him. He'll make contact."

The fork clatters against Sam's plate as she shoves it away. "And then what? We let Mark fall at his feet? Sorry if I sound bitter but he's taken him from me before."  

For the first time, Joan can honestly say she doesn't have a clue. Damien is a wildcard and always has been. The AM might've reformed him or it might've made him worse. A shark in the water with fresh blood, or a kicked puppy. It's a coin toss. 

His feelings for Mark are strong enough to make waves either way. 

"I don't know, Sam." 

* * *

 

(352)-472-487...

"I can't," Mark says, collapsing on his bed. The frame creaks when he hits the mattress with his fist. 

It's been one month on the nose and Damien hasn't called. Mark knows because he's answered every wrong and unlisted number without fail. Most were telemarketers, at least one was an elderly woman who thought he was her grandson Daniel, another was Sarah calling for Joan.

Damien's phone number has been scribbled in Sharpie on his palm since he found it four hours ago. It taunts him and calls him a coward and an insensitive bastard for not hitting that last digit. 

One week after The AM release, Chloe advised against losing himself in his own head, treading down dead ends that backed up to memories and guilt. Despite the warning, he didn't just walk down them- he  _ran._

Thirty one days of guarding the phone, isolating himself and wasting countless hours with Darwin and scotch. This is heartbreak, isn't it? Trudging through the same day for weeks with more alcohol than food in his stomach, sleeping until 5 in the afternoon. Answering every worried inquiry with, "I'm just tired."

Everyone around him avoiding Damien's name. 

No one wants to say it because Mark wasn't meant to fall in love with him. 

 

 

He'd kissed Damien on the cheek at a gas station two miles from Joan's office on the day of their return and promised he'd be okay. Just the once. Damien pulled away from him with a wounded expression on his face and muttered something about Sam. 

Mark nodded sharply and threw the car into gear. Shortly thereafter, Sam decked Damien and that marked the end. 

 

 

352-472-4879

_...ringing_

_...ringing_

_...ringing_

His palms sweat. One phone call to make sure he's alive and no one has to know. Like most things between them, it'll remain a secret. 

_'Hey, it's Damien. Leave a message and all that.'_

Upside: that's definitely his number. 

Downside: he's probably screening his calls.

Hearing his voice makes everything flat become 3 dimensional and throbbingly painful. Same gravelly tone that speaks to Mark in nightmares. Pleading, "Please don't leave me," as Joan loads an unconscious Damien into the back of Sam's SUV. Waxing poetic about his love of dogs as an ordinary hotel room transforms into The AM. Both of them strapped to tables and Damien saturated in blood.

Caleb sobbing.

Damien laughing in sun kissed dreams as Mark shares an embarrassing story from childhood. 

Damien in every crowd, in every face he sees. 

Thirty-one 

Fucking

Days.

Not a peep out of him. 

Mark puts the phone in the freezer, takes the scotch out of its hiding spot. 

* * *

 

Damien calls on day 32. 

Mark picks up on the second ring. 

"Hello?"

"Mark! Marky, Marky, Mark-"

Everything slots into place- all the waiting and drinking and crying. 

"Hey," he murmurs. "So you  _do_ know how to use a phone."

"I do, it's a miracle."

"Are you _drunk?"_

"Might be."

It's ten in the morning. Mark settles in.

 

 

 


End file.
